“I paid sixteen bucks for these drinks—each!I’m finishing my martini.”
To emphasize her words, Abby slammed half her drink in one gulp. Grimaced.
“You’ve made your point, Abs. I—”
“Hey.”
It was too late. Zeke’s face was red, his eyes bloodshot.
“You ratted me out.” Slurred words, minimal consonants. “You know who my father is?”
“Zeke, please. I’m just—”
“What’s your problem?” Abby said, coming to Ivy’s aid.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Who the fuck areyou?” Abby shot back.
Zeke snarled.
“I’m Zeke fucking Godfrey, that’s who.”
?Chapter 13
Delaney confirmed thatthe camera and speaker, and probably the digital door locks, operated via WiFi—the router thing had a satellite connection, apparently—but had no luck tracing incoming connections.
Something about VPNs, mesh networks.
Who knows.
Delaney promised to pass it off to the two cops—Bowes and Caine—who acted as the unofficial PPD tech department, but made a point of telling Vaughn that he doubted they’d have any luck, either.
Delaney wasn’t completely useless, though, despite Darnell’s comments to the contrary; he identified the strange-looking nozzle on the top of the hydrogen sulfide tank as some sort of automatic trigger.
All signs pointed to the person behind this, their unknown subject—unsub—having set it all up to run remotely.
Death via remote control.
After Dr.Button and CSU tech Landon loaded the bodies bound for the morgue, Darnell ordered Delaney to continue processing the scene—mostly because he didn’t want to do it, not because he expected to find anything of value—and then he and Vaughn headed back to the station.
“You really think this is some sick fuck trying to reenactSquid Game?” Darnell asked. He had his feet up on his desk. Leaned back. Acted as if seeing ten dead bodies didn’t affect him.
And maybe it didn’t. Maybe after you went through something like he had, nothing bothered you anymore. But if that was the case, why the heavy drinking?
“No idea.”
Darnell removed his feet, grabbed a sheet of paper off his desk.
“In the show, they have, like, five hundred contestants, and each is given a number from one to five hundred.”
“Didn’t know you were such a big fan.”
“Meh, not much to do after work anymore.” Darnell’s seriousness suddenly cut through his self-defense shield, which was constructed entirely of dad jokes. “And what can I say? The chick in the show was hot.”
“Right,” Vaughn said, letting his eyes drift upward in annoyance. “One to five hundred, you said?”
Vaughn was picturing the numbers he’d seen on the floor, on and inside the boxes.
